


what good the world could be

by Nottodaylogic (MandaloreArtist)



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, Cynthia and Mrs. Mega are married, F/F, Gen, M/M, Tatiana and Barb are Anathema and Newt, also I’ve taken quite a few liberties because it’s my fic and i get to decide what happens, also curt goes by like Curiel or something for a while, also the title was changed because i hated it im sorry, anyways blame Casey for this, disclaimer: i’m Jewish so don’t blame me for not understanding christian mythology, dr baron gets melted via holy water and let me tell you, that is because curt doesn’t sound like an angel name, theres a joke to be made here about secret agents and the ducks at st james’s park, they’re also Shadwell and Tracy, writing that? better than therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2020-11-01 15:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20817293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandaloreArtist/pseuds/Nottodaylogic
Summary: Being a Series of Events Leading Up To The Apocalypse, Involving an Angel, a Demon, Several Humans, and a Hellhound Who Isn’t Quite Anymore.(or: curt is an angel, owen is a demon, and the author considered flipping their roles every single time they opened the document.)





	1. horizon

**Author's Note:**

> yes i watched/read good omens 
> 
> yes there are some characteristics of each that would fit the other better
> 
> what i have to say about that is:
> 
> shut up it’s my fic i get to choose who gets the burning bookshop scene
> 
> (also i changed the title)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing this: why can’t curt just rebel already so he can be in character
> 
> (also curiel is curt and carvour is owen, blame curt mega for having a really cool spy name that doesn’t really translate well to angel-esque language)

“I’m sorry, you said something?”

The speaker, who had assumed a more humanesque form than the one he’d previously inhabited, cleared his throat. “I _ said _,” he explained, without malice, “‘well, that went downhill rather quickly.’ Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh.” Curiel, Guardian of the Northern Gate, turned to the source of the question. _ He has wings, _ he noted. _ This is new _. “Carver. It’s you.”

“Car_vour, _ actually, and I’m thinking of perhaps changing it entirely,” the demon replied with a shrug. His posture seemed almost relaxed. “I haven’t carved up anyone in the entirety of existence, and having _ that _as a name just seems awful.”

“Ah,” Curiel murmured. “And I’m assuming you don’t find that too prideful an action? Choosing your own name, instead of the one She gave you?”

Carvour laughed, loud and unrestrained. In all of existence, Curiel had never heard such a sound—what was it? _ Gleeful? Unconcerned? _ “Please, they practically encourage it Down There. Besides, She wasn’t the one to name me. All those nice angelic names, and then ‘Carver’? Honestly.” He snorted. “No, I’m afraid I’ll be going by something _ much _more refined, thanks.”

“Well, it’s unique, that’s for sure.”

“Why, thank you.”

Curiel wasn’t sure whether he’d originally meant it as a compliment, and so didn’t correct him.

They stood there in relative silence for a few moments—possibly longer, but time had only just been invented, and neither of them had gotten used to it yet.

“Why’d you do it?” Curiel wasn’t quite sure why he’d asked, when he clearly couldn’t care less. It wasn’t like it was _important._

Carvour blinked. “Do what?”

“Get them kicked out.”

“I didn’t think they’d get kicked out,” Carvour defended. “They just told me to make some trouble, and that's just what I did! Didn't know She’d be so harsh with them,” he mumbled, barely audible. Curiel had to take a moment to figure out what he’d said.

“Well,” he replied once the meaning sunk in, “I can't argue, but they disobeyed Her.”

“If She really didn’t want them eating the fruit,” continued Carvour, “why didn’t she put it somewhere else? Or put up some kind of wall? Seems a bit inevitable to me.”

“Huh.” Curiel couldn’t exactly say that the demon was incorrect, not in good faith._ But then again, _ he mused nervously, _ She’s never wrong. Right? _

It was darkening. Clouds were joining together in what would be the first rainstorm ever.

That topic of conversation exhausted, Carvour realized something. “What about your sword?”

Curiel started. “My—my what?”

“Oh, you know.” Carvour mimed swinging around a sharp weapon, although anyone who knew the baseball bat would be invented would say he looked as if he were wielding that instead. “Great flaming sword, radiant with Heavenly light?” His eyes—which at first glance seemed normal, but upon further inspection were actually the orange-brown and circular shape of a hawk’s—narrowed in some kind of suspicion. Curiel squirmed under his gaze. “You didn’t lose it, did you?”

Curiel shifted his weight, suddenly awkward, refusing to meet Carvour’s eyes. When he finally spoke, it was a mumble. “I gave it to them.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I gave it to them!” The angel whirled on Carvour, anger plain on his face—not directed at the demon, but at himself. He didn’t take note of the reaction, too afraid of the rejection that was sure to be there. [[1](%E2%80%9C#chap1-1%E2%80%9D)] “They’re defenseless out there, and it’s really hot, and how are they supposed to even get food, or water? It’s a _ desert!” _

“They’ll be fine,” Carvour managed to tell him through what appeared to be shock. [[2](%E2%80%9C#chap1-2%E2%80%9D)] “It’s part of the _ plan, _don’t you know?” It was one of the first usages of sarcasm on Earth.

Curiel clearly hadn’t heard of it, though, because he relaxed instantly. “Thanks, old boy. I’ve been wondering about it.”

The demon opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by the first raindrops.

Instead, he unfurled a brown wing and covered Curiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 If Curiel had, in fact, paid attention, he’d have noticed that Carvour actually seemed delighted by this fact. One could even say _ charmed. _ [ [back](%E2%80%9C#return1-1%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> 2 It was, indeed, shock, but not the kind that Curiel thought. In fact, one could possibly describe it as respect—hardly the kind of emotion that makes nonchalance easy, mind you.  [ [back](%E2%80%9C#return1-2%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> —
> 
> this chapter is 666 words this is so ironic shakshsksj 
> 
> also shana tovah to all my jewish and not-jewish pals!!!


	2. falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this is actually more accurately a series of ficlets than a fic, but there’s a lot of them so this is how they’re gonna be organized.
> 
> they’re also not gonna be in chronological order, but hopefully they still make sense?
> 
> (the reader begins to suspect that this is a lot more self-indulgent than this seems. they aren’t wrong.)

Curt had been in love with Owen since before either of them went by those names, since before the human tongue was even invented.

He didn’t know it then—why _ would _he, after all? The fact hadn’t changed since before time existed, and even then…

You don’t tend to notice what was always there.

It wasn’t the human kind of infatuation, of course; all too quick to catch, fading in an instant, leaving nothing but shattered things and regret.

The humans liked to use the term “in love with”, and Curt found himself quite liking this.

“It implies a joint effort,” he told Owen once while they were sitting in his bookshop, drunk on nothing but each other’s company (and maybe a glass or two of good liquor). [[1](%E2%80%9C#chap2-1%E2%80%9D)] “It seems like you’re fully immersed in it, completely, and—”

“And really, love,[[2](%E2%80%9C#chap2-2%E2%80%9D)] you’re thinking way too hard about this.” Owen scoffed and downed his glass. “They’re humans, their expressions don’t come out of a lot of thought. What does ‘like water off the backs of ducks’ even mean?! It doesn’t make any kind of sense. It shouldn’t slide off ducks, then ducks would slide off the water and then how would they drink any?”

_ Neither does love, _ Curt thought of saying, but decided against it.

It didn’t feel right to say.

He was an angel, what did he know of love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Owen’s eyes had always been the color of fine whiskey, an amber more beautiful than any other color he’d ever seen. Sometimes Curt thought he could get himself drunk on them easier than liquor. He certainly paid less attention while staring into their depths. He wouldn’t let himself ponder what could become of this.  [ [back](%E2%80%9C#return2-1%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> 2 And oh, hearing Owen call him that? Curt fell a little further every time.  [ [back](%E2%80%9C#return2-2%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> —
> 
> instead of two, three scenes, they get six thousand years to be in love. Gay Rights.
> 
> (also i am doing a few october things, but they’re not ready yet. same with actual good omens content, because im basic like that. i form attachments so quickly the jedi would kick me out as a baby honestly.)


	3. clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why did i add chapter titles. why.
> 
> thank jordan for this update btw, they gave me the writing juice to finish this enough to post haha!! 
> 
> also mel for educating me on alcohol. also for being patient when i thought jack daniels and bourbon were both brands. smh thanks for the help with that. actually super minor detail.

“Curt. It’s me. We need to talk.”

The bloody phone didn’t do anything. _All lines are currently busy, _the automated message calmly declared. Why did he have to plant the seeds of his own annoyance?!

Owen growled before hanging up. He pushed his foot down harder on the gas pedal (he drove an Aston Martin DB5, and Curt hadn’t stopped making fun of him for it since he’d purchased it in the 50s) and resisted the urge to scream.

_ The apocalypse just _had_ to be set in motion _now,_ didn’t it?! _

Stress and anger and anxiety whirled around in his chest, seeping into his thoughts, distracting him from his surroundings. The only reason he wasn’t caught in a crash on his way was the fact that he simply couldn’t afford to discorporate.

Especially not after being too bloody shocked to _ not do exactly what the demons had told him to _.

“Oh, damn it all!” He wanted to kick something. Instead, Owen pressed his foot harder on the gas. The DB5, despite being unable to go any faster, went faster. The joys of being a pissed-off demon.

Finally, he pulled up to the front of the bookshop, where a spot was always open for him.

Owen all but kicked down the door in his not-exactly-well-hidden panic.

Curt had been lounging on his couch, to all the world a man at ease, playing idly on his phone, when his door fell in. He put down the mug of coffee and frowned. “Owen?”

“Let me in. It’s bloody freezing out here.”

He stared at the wreckage of his once-functioning door. “You’ve clearly just let yourself in there, Carvour. What more could you want from me?”

Without looking back at the mess, Owen snapped his fingers. The door was very surprised to find itself back in place, and with a brand-new keyhole to boot. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

Curt blinked, then sighed. “I hope you’re referring to the chill.”

“Afraid not, old boy.” Owen usually used the term fondly, teasingly. Now, though, his voice was tight with anxiety. “You know what I mean.”

“No.”

He stared. “Are you going to make me say it? Hard enough having to dance around it, not sure if—”

“Well, one of us has to get it over with,” Curt argued, standing up, “and we both know what happens when it’s me.”

He did. It was something Owen never liked remembering—although he either couldn’t or didn’t want to say why. “Fine.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The apocalypse.”

Curt crossed his arms. “It’s simple, then.” He waited expectantly for Owen to fill in the rest. Owen blinked twice in confusion. Curt sighed and waved his hands around to articulate. “If there wasn’t an Antichrist…”

Owen stared. “Okay, what the fuck, Curt?” _And_ you’re _the angel here?!_ “They’re a child. A potentially-evil one, but whatever. My point—my point still stands. You can’t just—you can’t just kill children.”

“Alright.” Surprisingly quickly, Curt acquiesced with a shrug. This didn’t seem like something he could just—wave away, but neither of them was about to push it. “But we both know we’ll do what we’ll have to do in order to stop actually everyone from dying.”

“I still can’t believe _you’re_ the angel,” Owen muttered.

“It’s because I’m right.” Curt looked slightly too smug to excuse away.

“No, it’s because you’re a self-important idiot who should have Fallen long ago. Not because of this,” he continued, despite Curt’s offended face, “no, but for the _ blessed _beard you got in the 40s.”

“Excuse _ you, _that beard was the best thing that’s ever happened to my face. I peaked then. It was great.” Curt touched his chin, most likely imagining the awful facial hair. It had been there for a decade before Owen had put his foot down and refused to see him unless it was shaved. [[1](%E2%80%9C#chap3-1%E2%80%9D)]

“Keep telling yourself that, old boy. Soon enough you might just begin to believe it.” Owen clapped Curt on the shoulder and went to stand up, only to fall back down with an _oof! _from Curt having grabbed his wrist.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He paused, thinking. “I didn’t bring anything, did I?”

“No, not that.” Curt leaned forward and touched his lips to Owen’s—just a brush, almost excusable as an accident. Owen froze, let the thoughts leave his brain and all awareness go to the thing he’d be stupid if he called a kiss—then he pulled back.

“Are you _ insane?!” _His hand moved of its own accord to wipe at his mouth, without asking Owen whether that was what he wanted. Bile rose in his throat along with the fear. “We’ve talked about this! You can’t keep being this impulsive! For the love of—agh!”

“If they’re on the Earth, we don’t have much time left,” Curt argued. “And it’s not like they’ve said anything before. What are you afraid of?”

_You _know _what I’m afraid of._ Owen shook his head. “I’ll see you in a few months.”

“We don’t _have_ months, Owen.” Curt’s frustration coated his words in a layer of frost. “We have _ eleven years. _”

Owen groaned, his head hurting from thinking, his heart throbbing from everything else. “I’m too blessed sober for this.”

“Yeah, same here.” Curt tilted his head._ That can’t be good_. “I have some real nice Jack Daniels in the back I’ve been saving, if you wanted…?” He raised his eyebrow in invitation.

_“This is an awful idea, _Owen thought. He didn’t say so, however. Instead, he rolled his eyes once before sighing in defeat and taking off his sunglasses. “I’d bloody love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Curt had almost taken the route that let him keep the beard. He didn’t even care that people on the street would hand him coins if he asked; Owen dared him to try once.  [ [back](%E2%80%9C#return3-1%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> —
> 
> (btw, the aston martin db5 came from me realizing owen didn’t have a car and frantically googling james bond cars purchasable in the 50s. look it up, it actually looks super cool. features in goldfinger, apparently. it’s also british. perfect.)

**Author's Note:**

> sing sweetly into my ear like a vivian nightingale in berkley square at my tumblr, nottodaylogic


End file.
